


acedia

by delhuillier



Series: Crucible [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Morph!Kiran, Other, another OC has some lines, genderless Kiran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 23:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14531691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delhuillier/pseuds/delhuillier
Summary: Kiran ponders what it means to be a morph.





	acedia

They are a little bit broken. They know this. They have read it in books, seen it written in faded script: _soulless, bereft of emotion, simulacrum. Imperfect. Inhuman. Monstrous._

It is not their fault—it is the way they were made—but it doesn’t matter. The books whisper to them anyway, telling them they should not exist.

Kiran is different from the humans bound by contract to their service. They know this. They have seen it on the faces of their Heroes: emotions, surging across their faces like clouds scudding across a clear blue sky. From happiness to sadness to anger to forgiveness to happiness again—they cannot easily keep track, and have had to learn, in fits and starts, the subtle differences that separate each shade of feeling. They avoid crowds because they cannot read so many faces at once.

Humans are clumsy and imprecise. Their senses are far duller than Kiran’s: Kiran can hear the difference between the breathing of someone wounded and someone healthy, can smell the sharp copper scent of human fear and the nauseous stink of adrenalin, can see the many little signs of weakness soldiers exhibit when they tire and when they are wounded. There is no enemy they cannot assess in a glance, except perhaps Surtr and Veronica, when powers that Kiran does not understand shroud them.

It is because, Kiran understands now, they’re a morph. Created to fulfil whatever duty their creator gives them. They are naturally concerned with their duty and with their duty alone, whilst humans…

Alfonse is so concerned with what the divine Fólkvangr will do to him, what Fensalir will do to his sister, what Nóatún will do to Anna. What Breidablik will do to Kiran. Doesn’t he realise? Doesn’t he see? This is his role, Sharena’s role, Anna’s role. This is Kiran’s role. They are the only ones who can channel the powers of the gods that slumber within the weapons. It’s not about him. It’s not about them. It’s about saving Askr. It is _only_ about saving Askr.

So what if they’re a morph? So what if they can’t feel a single thing like humans do? So what if Alfonse can only be hurt by all of this, because of their inability to reciprocate his feelings in any meaningful way? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

It…it…

_It doesn’t_ , the voice murmurs, sweet and gentle as always. _Your duty is what defines you. Defy it, and what reason have you to exist?_

None. 

_That’s right. The prince is nothing to you. But you know this, don’t you, Kiran?_

Kiran cannot ignore this voice. It comes and goes, the whisper of a breeze over a bright meadow, the flicker of the northern lights in an arctic sky, and its commands are absolute. Return this Hero home. Summon this one. Sacrifice that Hero, and gather their quintessence— _you’re such a shoddy piece of work, we’ll have to make another of you soon, won’t we, Kiran?_

The voice guided them to where a princess of Nifl lay dying in the snow, her skin marred by ugly, weeping burns, and now it beckons them on, towards a sanctuary in the north. There is another princess there, and Kiran dreamed of her, once, but has not since.

_There’s no need for her,_ the voice told them. _I know the way._

Kiran is nothing but obedient, but sometimes, they…

It’s not wishing, exactly. It’s not wanting, exactly. It’s images, flashes of things that haven’t happened, and of things that have. Alfonse cradling their hand in his own. A dollop of vanilla icing they lick off their finger. The heat of the sun. The smell of cooking meat, heavy and rich, almost a taste on the back of their tongue. Alfonse next to them, solid and real, letting them rest on his shoulder.

(Alfonse holding them close, Alfonse cupping their cheek in one hand, Alfonse—

He’s so warm.)

They see these things, but they never reach for them, and so they retreat from Kiran like the mist that lolls lazily on the castle parade grounds in the early hours of the morning. Because Kiran is told, time and time again, that they are worth nothing at all—that they are an anomaly, that they are an aberration, that they have no right to exist—by the books, and by their master. Because they are not supposed to, not truly, want anything at all.

And yet Alfonse himself does not seem to realise this. He pushes and he pulls and he demands things Kiran cannot give him. It feels like a torch brought too close to bare skin; it feels like the icy wind of Nifl’s highlands, clawing at them through their clothes.

One day, Kiran knows, Alfonse will have the scales fall from his eyes and he will realise the truth. Kiran sometimes wonders why he hasn’t yet—he’s read the books, after all, he’s seen the deterioration Kiran suffers from wielding their divine weapon. He should have already come to the conclusion that they’re nothing, a cipher. That they’re not worth all this effort.

So one day, Alfonse will realise the truth. And he will turn away from them. And he will give his attention to someone who deserves it. Someone who is human, like he is.

And Kiran finds that that thought, it feels like a splinter lodged under a fingernail, it feels like a knife slid between the ribs, it feels like the blade of a sword, opening them up, turning them inside out.

**Author's Note:**

> "What's self-esteem?" - Kiran, probably
> 
> Shockingly, this was not previously posted on the Heroes subreddit. All-new content. Goodness!


End file.
